


Beacon Nine-Nine

by oldme (lotoftrash)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV) Fusion, Alternate Universe - Police, Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV) References, Crack, Derek Hale Being an Asshole, Inspired by Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV), and such, guilty pleasure fic, or as much as i can write crack, stiles as jake peralta
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-08
Updated: 2018-10-18
Packaged: 2019-07-27 23:21:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16229414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lotoftrash/pseuds/oldme
Summary: "This is unusual for you to ask something of me without threatening bodily harm; it's extremely unsettling. You almost sound decently socialized, which is a great feat for you. The answer is still no, though.”Derek leaned over his desk, planting both hands on it, sexy scruffed face only couple of inches from Stiles’s hairless one.“Alright, let me rephrase this to make it more comfortable to you: give me your desk, Stilinski, or I am ripping out your throat; with my teeth.”Or the one where Stiles is Jake Peralta.





	1. The bet and the new captain

**Author's Note:**

> This has been sitting in my folder for over two years. I didn't plan to publish anything more in the Teen Wolf fandom, but going through my old stuff, i realized some of it is actually readable. I'm posting this under my oldme pseud though, since i wrote it so long ago.
> 
> This is the first few episodes of Brooklyn Nine-Nine rewritten and condensed. Like i don't remember much of it now but i remember mostly following the storyline, so i just want to repeat; This is literally Brooklyn Nine-Nine but with the Teen Wolf crew. Don't come after my ass for copyright and stuff, unless there's a problem with posting this i'm not aware of.
> 
> As usual, while my english is getting better, my first language is French. You might find some misspelled words, or worst, some ''they're'' and ''their'' mixed up. Plus, i quickly edited this one, but keep in mind it was originally written two whole years ago, when i still believed 'wind' was pronounced like 'wine' but with a "d".

** _The bet and the new captain._ **

 

 

"Switch desk with me.”

 

Stiles looked up to Derek's scowl, which was scowlier than usual. 

 

S _cary_.

 

"This is unusual for you to ask something of me without threatening bodily harm, it's extremely unsettling. You almost sound decently socialized, which is a great feat for you. The answer is still no, though”

 

Derek leaned over his desk, planting both hand on it, sexy scruffed face only couple of inches from Stiles’s hairless one.

 

“Alright, let me rephrase this to make it more comfortable to you: give me your desk, _Stilinski_ , or I am ripping out your throat; _with my teeth_.”

 

Stiles grinned from ear to ear, leaning back into his chair to put some distance between them. Not that he didn’t want to get all up in Derek’s business. But maybe now wasn’t the time to attempt it.

 

"There you are, the Derek I know and lust after. Sadly, as much as you sweetly whispering to me how you want to kill me makes me want to have your babies, I’m gonna have to decline your kind offer. I know your desk situation is hard to cope with—" 

 

They both threw a glance at where Finstock was clipping at an ingrown toe nail with a focused face on, using his pile of unsolved cases as a makeshift pillow- 

 

“—but the best detective of this station cannot have his work hindered by flying clipped nails. Glad we could have this talk." He said as he sent a ripped off bit of eraser flying directly into Isaac's hipster mason pot, probably full of kale detox water. The man shot him a dirty look, but couldn't be bothered to look away from his internet scarf shopping for more than three second.

 

"I doubt it.” Derek said, crossing his arms, making his bulky and defined biceps pop out of his fitting henley. But Stiles was not focusing on that, and neither on the expense of his shoulders, or the outline of his abs under his tight shirt, or the way the fabric stretched across his chest. Could someone explain to him how rolled up sleeves transformed forearms into such a kink?

 

"Doubt what?”

 

"You're certainly not this station best detective.”

 

"Excuse me?!" His voice went higher than usual, but he would deny it later. "I am! I am this station finest!— " he flailed.

 

"No you're not.”

 

“—the golden boy—“

 

“Definitely not.”

 

“—The prodigy—“

 

“Moron.”

 

“—the genius, the wonder boy, the brain—. You were supposed to keep interrupting me with negations but now I just sound stupid.”

 

"That's because you are.” Boyd said from the other desk.

 

"Thanks for your two cents buddy, truly appreciated.”

 

But Boyd had already went back to ignoring him.

 

"Now about you saying stupid things like how i'm not the _thee_ best, let me tell you something; you're wrong”

 

"Oh yeah? Well, prove it." Derek's muscles where still bulging so it was incredibly hard to focus.

 

"Oooh I always love a good challenge.”

 

"You two should just make a bet and stop choking us with your sexual tension.” Isaac said still not looking up from his computer screen.

 

Scott rolled himself from his desk to Stiles's with a push of his feet. "That's such a fun idea Isaac, smart!”

 

“Whatever loser.” Isaac said, trying to hide his blush and his crush.

 

"So let's say,” Scott carried on enthusiastically, "the one who makes the most arrest in three months time wins the bet.”

 

Derek seemed to be weighting on if he was ready to step so low as to make a childish bet. He was.

 

"Alright then, if I win, Stiles has to switch desk with me.”

 

"And when —not if— I win, I get to take Derek on the most humiliating date. Of. His. _Life._ " Stiles shot back, and leaned forward to add " _In my jeep_ ” with a wink.

 

Everyone fell silent around the station, all eyes on them, everyone waiting for the moment Derek would just change his mind and go for the killing already. It didn't happen.

 

"Deal. And when I win, I will make sure to bring Finstock and Greenberg some Chipotle, just to be sure you get a _warm_ welcome.”

 

"That's incredibly evil, dude. You're making me all hot and bothered.”

 

 

_ Stilinski: 28 _

_ Hale: 28 _

 

 

"Hale, sweetie, I’ll let you have the honour of switching this beautiful "8" of mine into a better-than-yours “9".

 

Everyone clapped and catcalled as Derek begrudgingly made his way from his seat in the meeting room to the white board. He erased the number beside "Stilinski" with probably too much force, and upgraded it into “ _29_ ".

 

He turned around and fixated his eyebrows onto Stiles shit eating grin sporting face.

 

"You cheated.”

 

"Oh no, I certainly didn't! I was just _sooo_ enthusiastic about that robbery case that I couldn't stop myself from getting there ten minutes before you and solving it before you arrived. You can't blame a guy for his thirst of justice." 

 

He leaned back casually into his chair and did a once over of Derek's rock bod. "I'm thinking deep aubergine for your dress pants, but again, a nice blue would fit better with my jeep. Maybe some grey and orange stripes for the top?” 

 

Stiles got lost in his thought of Derek's ass into dress pants and tight fitting shirt, but a flying white board pencil straight into his forehead interrupted him.

 

"I haven't said my last word, Stilinski.” Derek said, suddenly right in his face.

 

"Jesus C _hrust_! Stop sneaking up on unsuspecting people you freaking caterpillar eyebrow wearing creeper!" 

 

Stiles put a hand over his poor abused heart which was trying to beat out of his chest, while Derek looked up at his eyebrow trying to understand what Stiles meant by that.

 

"Alright children.” Lydia called from the front, making everyone quiet down. "Today we are welcoming our new captain. I want every unattended children to be behaving. That means you, Stiles.”

 

Everyone looked at him, Scott with a thumbs up.

 

"I will be talking with him in private after his introduction, and then everyone will be back in this room to update him on your cases." Everyone nodded.

 

"Alright, he's set to arrive in the next 10 minutes. Behave. I still mean you Stiles."

 

"Love you too Lydia"

 

"Please don't."

 

 

Alan Deaton was a man with an aura of calm surrounding him. His face was into a serene neutral mode, no hint of emotion betraying his perfect composure.

 

"I expected an old white man with a donut addiction.” Lydia said with no inflection.

 

"I expected a young white man with a future donut addiction.” Deaton responded, even flater.

 

Lydia extended her hand for a shake, which Deaton reciprocated.

 

"Glad we were not what the other was expecting.”

 

"Of course, and welcome to your new position. The 9-9 is not the easiest station to run, but you will certainly find talents here.”

 

Deaton rose from his chair and went to the window that gave a peripheral view of the station.

 

"Alright, now tell me about your detectives.”

 

Lydia flipped her hair over her shoulder before resting her hand on her hip.

"Well, let's get the worst out of the way I guess; Finstock and Greenberg.”

 

They both looked at where the oldest detective of the station was doing— Nothing. Just staring at a framed photo of a cupcake. Greenberg for his part was trying to fit a USB into his phone charger hole.

 

"Finstock is too close to retirement for us to fire him. He usually resolves around one case each month or two, depends on how the local high school lacrosse season is going; he goes to all the games and scream at the players as if he was the coach.”

 

"And when is he retiring?”

 

“In a year or so. Just ignore him until he goes away. Greenberg just really makes good coffee and I would probably have a vendetta from the other employee if we were to fire him.”

 

“Noted.”

 

"Now, let's start with detective Scott McCall. Not the brightest, but he is the most hard working person I have ever seen, and sensible. He keeps up with the other by working his ass off, and his paperworks are usually flawless. Also his cooking is out of this world; try to get a hand on one of his canapé at the next Christmas office party. It’s almost impossible, though.” She said this with an air of bitterness that told a lot on what happened last Christmas. Deaton didn’t ask.

“Next, we have Allison Argent. She has the cute-girl-next-door vibe working for her since most perps underestimates her, not knowing she could kill them with every surfaces of a bobby pin. Lethal with any type of weapon or object, and has great instinct with her investigations. Also has natural leadership trait. McCall and her used to date, but not anymore. It doesn't affect their work together, though. They _surprisingly_ compliment each other with their qualities.

 

Vernon Boyd is our muscle and brain combo. He looks intimidating as fuck, and has the most acute observation skills I've ever witnessed. Don't try to lie to him, he will find out your tell and exploit it. He doesn't talk a lot, but listen when he does; he's rarely wrong. Also he is a big family guy, married with two kids. He won't let it show but he could take a bullet for any dummies of this station.

 

He’s married to Erica, our resident interrogator. It’s very hard to tell though. They don’t even act as if they know each other in the office. She usually uses her cleavage to get the info she wants from who she wants, whatever the gender, but when that doesn’t work, she can get quite scary. Some perps have sued for PTSD after she went through them. No one has been able to prove anything, though.

 

Which brings us the our last two; Derek Hale grew up in a big family with a tyrannic older sister, so he's always trying to prove he's better than anyone. He did straight A in school and in the police academy. His leadership qualities could be greatly improved if he learned to communicate with people, though. He says he prefers to work alone on his cases, but he secretly loves working in team. And even more secretly loves to work with Stiles Stilinski.”

 

"Stilinski? As in…"

 

“Yes, the old captain is his father, but it's certainly not the reason he got in. Stilinski is my best detective, but please don’t tell him I said that. He loves catching bad guys; at 16 years old he was already helping his father figure out some of his cases. His head is wired differently than the mass; he sees connections no one could have imagined. His only problem is that he literally is a toddler in men's clothes, and I’m being very generous with my use of the words ‘ _men's clothes_ ’."

 

"You seem to know your detective squad well.”

 

"I’m good at my job.”

 

"I want to make this station one of the best in California, so we will have work to do.”

 

"Yes sir.”

 

"And I think I know a good place to start.”

 

They shared a conspiring resting bitch face.

 

 

 

 

_ Stilinski: 45 _

_ Hale: 41 _

 

 

 

"He's right behind you, dude.”

 

Stiles interrupted his rendition of robot Deaton to throw a look over his shoulder, where in fact, Captain Deaton was standing.

 

"Heyyyy, Captain, how is it going this fine afternoon…"

 

"You do a horrible robot voice, Stilinski. It’s certainly not worth distracting your coworkers for. Also I don't know where you find the time to mess around.” 

 

Which was everyone's cue to go back to their desk and look the other way so as to be able to plead plausible deniability to whatever was going to happen next.

 

"Well you see, I just completed my last assignment and I was on my way to your office to know if you happened to have anything more for me—“

 

"That won't be necessary, Stilinski, since you’re going to review all of this past month’s cases you closed”

 

"What." Stiles said, with no inflection.

 

"You see, detective, you may have been efficient with solving your cases, but your paperwork has been greatly neglected. Last week you mislabeled an evidence; if McCall hadn't caught it, you would have let a criminal walk free. Your handwriting doesn't look human, which makes everything indecipherable. Your desk is a mess and there are ants in your drawers. Before you do anymore cases, I want your desk to be cleaned up and your paperwork perfectly redone and _readable_. Understood? Also put on some actual professional clothes from tomorrow on. You're not lounging around your home, you're an officer of the law and need to be taken seriously. And stop getting in late, this is unacceptable.”

 

Stiles’s mouth grew gapier and gapier, until his jaw was hitting his desk and Miguel the ant could walk into it.

 

"Bu- but what about the unresolved cases! You can't let them pile up!”

 

Deaton sent him one of his rare smile. Or maybe not, it could also have been a twitch. Or the lightning.

 

"Luckily, Detective Hale has also finished his pile, and all of his paperwork. He is disposed to take on more work." He said, then turned around and strode to his office.

 

"I don't know about you, but I _really_ love the new captain.” Said a stupid voice behind him. It was a stupid voice because it was Derek's voice. "I don't know how you're gonna be able to win our bet unable to get new cases." Derek said, and left with a shit-eating grin.

 

And that's when Stiles elaborated a plan— or right after he stared at Derek’s ass walking away. An evil mastermind plan that would fix all of his problems.

 

“Isaac, help me do my paperwork. Please.”

 

But alas, Isaac didn't care. Didn’t even bother looking his way, only slurping obnoxiously at his mason jar full of cucumber water.

 

"If you help me out I will buy you the Valentino scarf you've been drooling after for the past weeks.”

 

That got Isaac’s attention.

 

"Deal. But if I'm moving to your desk you have to get rid of every single ant.”

 

20 minutes later, Stiles walked back into the station with some raid, a Starbuck soy latte, and a big smile. As he vaporized the chemical around his desk, he sent a silent promise that Miguel’s loss wouldn’t be in vain.

 

 

 

 

 

Five days later, Deaton walked in to see Detective Stilinski sitting at his clean desk, cleared of all the cases files he had to review, dressed in a grey dress shirt and a dark tie.

 

Deaton paused on his way to his office, his face displaying—. Well, nothing.

 

He walked over, observing silently as Stiles put away the last sealed evidence into a box.

 

"Detective Stilinski, I can see that you're done with the task I gave you.”

 

"In fact, Captain. And I wanted to say that I'm sorry for my unprofessional attitude, it's all in the past now. I can promise you that I will improve my work ethic from now on.”

 

Deaton raised a sceptical eyebrow but nodded nevertheless.

 

"Very good. Put this box away in the evidence room and meet me in my office, I have a couple of cases that need solving.”

 

Stiles smiled big and wide and stupid.

 

"Thank you Cap’tain, will do!” He exclaimed, and rose from his chair.

 

Time froze.

 

Lydia blanched from her desk, Scott dropped his muffin, Boyd didn't care,Allison had a small indulgent smile, and Erica was smiling like the predator she was.

 

Derek walked into a wall.

 

From waist down, Stiles was clad in a black speedo with the batman logo on the front; a sock obviously stocking it.

 

Deaton’s face grew, if that was possible, even more emotionless.


	2. The Date and The Lizard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Kate Argent. Primary suspect on the serial arsonist case. Possible M.O. : Finds men, seduce them, finds out where they live then burn down their house. She usually goes for tall, dark and broody, with anger management issues and abundant pilosity. She clearly doesn’t know you manscape.”_
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> _“I don’t manscape.”_
> 
>  
> 
> _“Said everyone who manscapes."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to stay as the first chapter only, but i got like five people commenting for more, which for me is a lot, so i made this into a WIP. My writing has evolved since two years ago so this might feel a little different? Hopefully the whole five of you will still enjoy this chapter as much. Insert usual warning about French being my first language here. Sorry for the grammar y'all.

**_ The date and the Lizard. _ **

 

 

_Stilinski: 65_

_Hale: 66_

 

 

“I’m so happy we could finally meet, I hear you’re hard to take out of the station.” Kate gave Derek a flirty look over her wine glass, fluttering her lashes in a way she probably wanted coy.

 

Derek didn’t particularly find her pretty or attractive. She actually looked like the kind of person you didn’t want as an ex or anywhere near your family. No, Derek definitely preferred bony, pasty white, witty, sarcastic grown down… 

 

…Is what it looked like was going through Derek’s mind from Stiles’ perspective. With only one eyebrow in view though, it was kind of hard to tell. Wild guesses were his best bet.

 

 

 

 

 

“Yeah well, I’m here now.” Derek answered distractedly. There was a tuft of black hair popping out from behind a menu at the next booth that actually looked a little familiar.

 

“Yes, Lucky me, I finally secured a date with you. We’ve been talking about it for _weeks._ ” She looked a bit reproachful. But then again it could have been what her naturally pinched up and bitchy face turned into when she got excited. People like her were the reason Derek didn’t date.

 

“Lot’s of cases to solve, detectives to babysit.” He shrugged. 

 

Plus the dude from the next booth was holding his menu upside down, which just screamed weird. 

 

“You definitely look like the kind of man that can take _charge_.” She said, and it sounded heavy with double entendre.

 

“Not if I can help it.”

 

“Why not,” She tapped her manicured nails on the table in a slow motion. “Don’t you like taking command?” 

 

“Not really.”

 

“You’re not a man of many words, I see.” She _purred_ , leaning forward, showing off an impressive cleavage. Still didn’t hold a candle to Erica’s, though.

 

“Oh he just doesn’t know that many.”

 

Derek could have sweared he heard Stilinski’s grating voice coming for the booth over, but life wouldn’t hate him enough to make Stiles Stilinski show up during his dates now, would it?

 

“He grunts instead. It kind of has a cave man charm to it though; I dig it.”

 

Yeah, no one else could spill so much shit in such a short amount of time.

 

“Why are you here.” He said, not finding it in himself to put an interrogative inflection at the end of the sentence once he looked up to where Stiles was out of the booth and standing by theirs, dressed up as a… _Pedophile?_ Nothing else could describe his fake moustache, greasy hair parted in the middle, baby blue shirt, baggy tan shorts and socks in sandals combo.

 

“Firstly; Your lack of inflection is big turn on for me—“

 

“I don’t care.”

 

“—And secondly. I need to talk to you. Like now.”

 

“Derek, who is this?” Kate asked, looking not all too pleased by Stiles wild appearance. “You look kind of familiar.”

 

“ I don’t think so. I’m Derek’s lifestyle guru.”

 

“No he’s not.”

 

“Fine, If you’re ready to publicly admit you like to call me Yoda. _Men_ ’s bathroom. Now.”

 

“Why do you feel the need to specify—.”

 

“Now, Derek.”

 

 

 

 

 

“Why in the hell are you dressed like that?” Derek began once past the door.

 

Stiles put both hands on his hips with his legs spread shoulder width, the picture perfect of proudness.

 

“Say hello to Adrian Harris; Failed chemistry teacher with dark sexual fantasies, who takes out his frustrations on unsuspecting students.”

 

“Ok, but why did you feel the need to go around town dressed up as a _child molester.”_ Derek asked bewildered. 

 

_“If you must know,_ this is one of my usual stakeout cover.” He sniffed. “Now, back to the main issue; Why are you on a date with a woman who looks scarier than your sist—”

 

“What Stiles is trying to say,” Erica said, popping out of a stall. “Is that we’re on a stakeout, tailing a serial arsonist.”

 

Derek stared at her, then back at Stiles, then back at her.

 

“Ok. What does that have to do with me?”

 

Stiles smiled. “Well, she’s a 30-something blond woman with a murderous glint in her eyes that screams _I eat children for breakfast, lunch and dinner_ , currently out on a date with a huge ball of eyebrow and manpain. Need another hint? She’s sitting at the same table as you.” 

 

“ _Kate?_ ”

 

“Give it up for a true Sherlock everyone.”

 

“Shut up Stilinski.” came from three different voices. Boyd pushed his way out of the same stall.

 

“How is it fair that you all got your dramatic entrance but I didn’t?” 

 

No one answered.

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Kate Argent. Primary suspect on the serial arsonist case. Possible M.O. : Finds men, seduce them, finds out where they live then burns down their house. She usually goes for tall, dark and broody, with anger management issues and abundant pilosity. She clearly doesn’t know you manscape.”

 

“I don’t manscape.”

 

“Said everyone who manscapes.”

 

A slap resounded from far away in the building, but no one gave it any mind but Scott.

 

“Hey, you guys heard that? Kind of sounded lik—.” “Not now McCall.”

 

“Children, settle down.” Came Lydia’s voice as she strode in, followed by Deaton.

 

“Stilinski, where are we on the Arson case? The clock is ticking.” He said from the front, looking impatient. Or relaxed. It was hard to tell. 

 

Another slap, this one closer. Something spicy started tickling their nostrils. Scott perked up, a worried expression on his face.

 

“As I was explaining to McManscaping over there, I’m pretty sure I got our guy. Or lady. Is ‘guy’ a gender neutral word?”

 

“Stiles.”

 

“Fine. _Ladyguy_. I know it’s her, but the D.A. says I don’t have sufficient evidence to proceed to the arrest. We can’t link her to the chemicals used to start the fires or prove how she acquired them.”

 

“That’s because you’re a shitty Detective, Stilinski.”

 

Everyone turned to the newcomer, a sentiment of doom traveling the room at the sound of that dreaded voice.

 

“Oh please not that fucker.” Said Allison; sweet angel.

 

Not even she could stand the sight of Jackson Whittemore.

 

A.K.A. _The Lizard_.

 

The echos of helpless no homo ass slapping should have clued them first; they should have known it was the sound of approaching privileged white boy fuckery. But then, once they smelt the pungent smell of axe slowly surrounding them, it was already too late. 

 

“I knew it.” Scott whispered, pinching his nose.

 

“What the hell are you doing here, Whittemore?” 

 

“I don’t want to be in this shithole either, Stilinski, but since you suck at your job, Major Crime is taking over the Arson case. Loser.”

 

“No. No. Nononononono—”

 

 

 

 

 

“—No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no,—. Was still saying Stiles, leaning over his drink, at the end of the day.

 

“I can’t believe we got lizarded again. That slimy asshole.” Erica said, lining up seven shots on the table. Stiles paused in his litany of ‘ _no_ ’s to reach for one, but got slapped away for his effort. She grabbed the first shot, then drank them all one after the other without breaking eye contact.

 

“If I wasn’t sitting next to your husband weighting 250 pounds of pure muscles, I would think you were trying to seduce me.”

 

“Maybe I am, Batman.” She leaned forward, licking her ruby red lips, acting like she was trying to say the next thing just for the two of them. “I bet you still wear the speedo from time to time.”

 

He mirrored her position, made his voice drop an octave. Or twelve.. “I am. Right now. It’s making my intergluteal cleft sweaty”

 

Derek choked on his drink.

 

“How many time has it been now? Last time I was reciting my perp his rights and he jumped in, said the last two words and stole the arrest right under my nose.” Allison said, hitting back her drink and putting it down hard enough to make the glass crack.

 

“Easy there tiger, some of us have to deal with worse from him; i.e. _the motherfucking ass slapping_. That dude needs to realize his obsession with man’s butt has nothing to do with the time he spent in locker rooms during his teen athlete career.”

 

Everybody nodded silently. 

 

“I bet he’s going to rub that case in our faces for years.” Derek brooded, his nostrils flaring. His scowl was taking impressive proportions. “I wish I could rip out his—” 

 

“Don’t you dare finish that threat, Derek Hale, that’s _our_ cute murderous thing. Is nothing sacred anymore?”

 

“I was going to say rip out his balls.”

 

“Oh. Oh well then, carry on. No. Wait. Were you going to say with your teeth, though? Because then I’m not sure he’d be that bothered about it.” He wiggled his brow, but a peanut hit him square in the face. Not one to be deterred, he picked it up with a smirk.

 

“I bet y’all this is the actual size of his sole testicle.”

 

“Yeah that’s pretty accurate.” Isaac said, twirling a spoon in a cup where a chamomile teabag was infusing in straight vodka. “Plus he has a small dick.” 

 

“Yeah, plus he has a small— Why in the hell would you know he has a small dick, Isaac?” 

 

The man in question looked down at his nails uninterested, shrugging casually.

 

“‘Cause I sucked it.”

 

A communal _ewww_ crossed their table.

 

“Why in the hell would you voluntary put your face that close to his genitalia?”

 

“I needed to get close enough to steal his Major Crime I.D. to get granted access to the database.”

 

“I. What?” 

 

“Thanks to me, we can check the progression of the case, resolve it before him, then outlizard the lizard. I checked before we left. Something about Beacon hills High School chemistry classroom.”

 

Stiles sat there flabbergasted for about ten whole second, then grabbed Isaac’s face to plant a wet smooch on his lips.

 

“Against all odds, that’s the grossest thing I had on my mouth today.” Isaac said, drinking a sip from his cup to wash the saliva away.

 

“What other thing did you have on your mouth today?” Scott asked curiously.

 

“Among others; Whittemore’s dick.”

 

Stiles spat his drink everywhere.

 

“Gross, Stilinski.” Boyd whipped his now wet face.

 

“Wait, you did that _today?!_ When did you even find the time? Did you brush your teeth afterward? Are you telling me I just _indirectly sucked_ _The Lizard’s small dick_?”

 

“And you also indirectly ate out his ass.”

 

Stiles dissociated.

 

The rest of their table stared at Isaac.

 

“What? I had to put the I.D. back, didn’t I?”

 

 

 

 

 

“I’m not sure six drunk detective and a civilian administrator breaking into a high school at night to illegally investigate is a good idea.” Derek said while Scott was struggling with the lock picking. “Plus I went to this school.”

 

“We all did Derek, that’s what living in a small town means.”

 

“I didn’t.” Erica said. “I went to catholic school. Wanted to become a nun.”

 

“And look how well that turned out.”

 

“Pretty well actually, I was a slutty vampire nun at Halloween for the last five years.”

 

“So _that’s_ what it was!” Scott wondered aloud, earning himself a death stare.

 

“Back to the point, we’re drunk officers of the law, breaking said _law, drunk.”_

 

“I’m not drunk.” Boyd said, arms crossed.

 

“Yeah but you’re the designated driver, so that doesn’t count.” 

 

“Derek,” Stiles said reassuringly, a hand going to the man’s shoulder. Which wasn’t a good idea since the muscles there distracted him from his train of thoughts. 

 

“Wow, your shoulders sure are  _burly_. Wait, I didn’t mean to say that out loud.”

 

“Stiles, get to the point.”

 

“Right.” He fondled around until satisfied, then carried on. “If I get this arrest, I’m splitting it with you for the scoreboard.” 

 

“Deal. The window over there is cracked open. Let’s go.”

 

 

 

 

_Stilinski: 65.5_

 

_Hale: 66.5_

 

 

 

“Who would have thought that by breaking into the school we’d stumble upon a secret meeting between Kate Argent and that failed chemistry teacher whose name is, coincidently, Adrian Harris, overhearing them talk about the fire in more details than the police even has.”

 

“Yeah, who would’ve thought.” Deaton said, looking less than impressed. Or really ecstatic. He was very hard to read. “And how are you going to explain that one to Major Crime?”

 

Stiles smiled wide, putting a hand over his heart.

 

“I’ll tell them the whole truth, Sir, it’s only fair; Detective Derek Hale forced us all into this.”

 

“Stiles.”

 

“Fine. I’ll just threaten Major Crime with a sexual harassment lawsuit on Whittemore’s hands, that should get them off our back.”

 

“ _Stiles._ ”

 

“ _Fine._ Anyone ever told you you’re boring?”

 

“You do. Every day.”

 

 

 

 

 

“Incoming.” Scott whispered, before both of them got graced with one last no homo slap on the butt for the road. Stiles ground his teeth, holding back a string of classy curses.

 

“Keep it sexy, boys.” Whittemore threw on his way out, waving around the folder containing the Argent case he was about to bring back to Major Crime, solved under his name.

 

“How long until it gets delivered to his office?” Stiles asked Scott between his clenched teeth.

 

“I sent it with express shipping, so tomorrow or the day after that.”

 

“Good.”

 

“Are you sure he’s never going to bother us again just because you sent him your unwashed speedo?”

 

Stiles answered with a serene smile slowly stretching his face. 

 

“Oh, I’m certain; Wrapped in that very speedo, my friend, is a flash drive with his very not straight browsing history.”

 

Isaac didn’t high five him, but it was a close call.


End file.
